


i just wanna get you high on me (i just wanna make you wanna make me yours)

by OliviaRedfield



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Jarah B, Jiara - Freeform, blurbs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28990257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OliviaRedfield/pseuds/OliviaRedfield
Summary: A collection of Jiara and Jarah B -centric drabbles/blurbs written for tumblr.Enjoy!
Relationships: JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks), Sarah Cameron/John B. Routledge
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	1. That's a Fact, Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Get You High by HARBOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Anonymous, for the prompt!
> 
> Prompt:  
> That's a fact, Jack!

Kiara is pretty sure fifth grade was invented by the devil himself. You know, if he exists. She’s not entirely sold on that particular entity’s reality, but if the devil does exist he definitely invented fifth grade. Or to be more specific, he invented going to school in fifth grade after being homeschooled all her life.

Scanning the room, Kiara resigns herself to the fact that she doesn’t actually know many of the kids there and would probably never make a single friend. She might as well be invisible. Sure, she’s seen many of their faces from The Wreck, or being around town, but she doesn’t actually  _ know _ them. And they don’t know her. Take the weird blond kid she had been assigned to sit next to (because the teacher had decided to seat them alphabetically by  _ first name; _ Kiara may be new to the whole going-to-school-thing, but even she knew that was a little odd). She had seen him around town a few times. He likes to play with the Heyward kid, who is sitting somewhere behind her. But she doesn’t know his name. She wishes she did, though, so she could use it to properly tell him off for distracting her on her first day. 

He’s rather wild, constantly tapping on the desk with his pencil, bouncing his legs, boots clunking against the floor, humming extremely off key. He leans to the kids around him, especially the brown haired boy on his other side, and whispers to them about whatever runs through his mind. He has told a few funny jokes, but they’re working on multiplication tables now, and Kiara has always been bad at math, and the teacher is talking really fast because apparently it’s supposed to be review, so she tries to ignore him.

“Hey,” the blond boy whispers to her for probably the fiftieth time that day. “Hey, new girl.”

“My name is Kiara,” she hisses back. “Shh! I’m trying to pay attention.”

“If you miss anything, just ask Pope. He always gets the right answers.”

“Is that really what you wanted to tell me?”

“No. Do you like to surf?”

“Sh! Math!” She tries to turn her attention back to the teacher, but now the blond boy is leaning over and picking up one of her extra pencils and inspecting the little animal eraser she had attached to the end of it. “Hey, give that back?”

“Or what, Kiara?” He drags her name out with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. He’s teasing her. In the middle of math class. Kiara has never considered herself a violent person, but in this moment she wants nothing more than to punch his silly smirking face. 

“Or I’ll punch your face,” she says, trying to maintain some sort of discreteness while lunging for her pencil. It wouldn’t be a good look to get detention on her first day in real school. 

“Girls can’t punch!” The boy laughs, maybe a little too loudly because the teacher turns around and glares at the classroom. All of the children freeze in their seats. This is a new year and a new teacher, who could be incredibly strict or very laid back. Only time would tell. Even crazy blond boy seems to quiet down and be on his best behavior for exactly three milliseconds before the teacher turns back to the board to continue writing out the complex problem she was trying to explain. 

“This girl can punch,” Kiara whispers harshly. “And that’s a fact, Jack.” She’s heard her dad use that phrase before, and it sounded impressive when he said it. She hopes it will make the boy shut up for good, but he leans back, a funny look crossing his face.

“How’d you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name.”

She bites back a little laugh of disbelief. “It’s just a thing my dad says. Wait, your name’s really Jack?”

He nods, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, but everyone calls me JJ. Can you really punch?”

“Yes, and I can prove it if you don’t shut up.”

“Can you show me at recess?”

Kiara sighs. He seems really excited, and honestly, kind of nice, even if he is distracting. “Sure, but you gotta let me pay attention to Ms. Jones.”

JJ mimes sealing his lips and locking them tight, and Kiara giggles a little. She lets him keep the pencil he took for a while because he seems to like it. He keeps quiet for the rest of math class, thankfully, and at recess, Kiara shows him how to throw a punch. He gets pretty good at it, too. 


	2. I Like Proving You Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Ana for the prompt! <3  
> Sorry, it ended up sadder than intended.
> 
> Prompt:  
> "I like proving you wrong."

JJ storms into the Chateau, the screen door slamming behind him, pulling a laughing Kiara behind him. John B barely glances up from the half-made sandwich in front of him, being so used to his best friends’ shenanigans.

“JB,” JJ calls out. He steers Kiara toward their friend and positions her in front of him. Jerking his thumb between the two of them, he says, “Who would win in a fight? Me or Kie?”

“What?” John B continues focusing on his sandwich. He has other things on his mind. Like the upcoming meeting with DCS and earning enough for bills,and other shit that a normal seventeen-year-old shouldn’t have to worry about.

“Who would win a fight?” Kie chimes in. She seems just as invested in the conversation as JJ, so John B resigns himself to mediating their ridiculousness.

“What kind of fight? Like a battle of wits? A fist fight? Wrestling?”

“Any kind of fight.”

“Kie. Hands down.”

“Hey, what?” JJ practically squeaks in indignation. “I mean, we all know she’s smarter, but brutal hand-to-hand combat? I got her beat, easy!”

Kie turns to him, sass emanating off of her, along with a little mischief. “Oh, really? You think so? You heard John B, I would win every time.”

“Yeah, well prove it!” JJ takes a step toward Kie, a confident smirk on his lips.

“Children, children, no wrestling in the house,” John B interrupts with a laugh. 

“Yeah, well, my dad needs me back at the restaurant, anyway,” Kie says dismissively. “I’ll just have to prove you wrong later.”

The time for Kiara to prove herself doesn’t come until a few days later. “Let go of him, Topper!” She yells, rushing to Pope’s defense, swinging JJ’s backpack at the Kook boy. “Fascist asshole!” She might not know exactly what JJ and Pope did to piss off Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest: Kook trio, but she knows they don’t deserve to have their asses beat for it. When Topper snatches JJ’s bag out of her hands, she jumps on his back. Anything to keep him from beating Pope. Next thing she knows, Rafe is slamming her to the ground, hard.

Topper has Pope in a chokehold, while Kelce holds JJ down for Rafe to throw punch after punch after punch. She has to do something. Digging through JJ’s backpack she finds the gun. Can’t use that, it would be too obvious. They’d land in prison, or worse. The next thing she pulls out is JJ’s zippo. Fire.  _ Fire. Perfect. _ In minutes, the movie screen in front of them is up in flames, and the three Kook boys are scrambling to get out of sight of the panicking crowd on the other side of it. 

“You’re a freaking idiot!” Pope coughs, leaning on Kiara for support.

“I saved your ass.” She motions for JJ to come along with them and throws an arm around Pope. “Come on!”

That ends up being only the first of many times Kiara saves her boys during a fight. JJ doesn’t want to admit it, but if it wasn’t for her quick thinking, he’s pretty sure he would be dead a few times over. Even in the midst of all the chaos of finding the gold, running from the cops, running from Ward, JJ remembers and is thankful to have Kie in his corner. 

Now, he sits next to her on the sand at Rixon’s Cove. John B has been gone a month, and neither of them want to talk about it. “Hey,” JJ says. “I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“For saving our asses. More than once. J-John B was right.” He shakes his head. It’s still hard to say his best friend’s name. “You can win in a fight.”

She laughs dryly. “Guess I like proving you wrong.”

“Wanna prove me wrong one more time?” She looks at him in confusion and he continues, “Prove to me they’re not dead.”

Kie wraps an arm around him, lacing her fingers through his hair, holding him close. She takes a shaky breath. “Trust me, I want to be proved wrong about that, too.”


	3. Be Brave, Sweetheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Anonymous for the prompt!
> 
> Prompt:   
> "Be brave, sweetheart."

The Kildare county fair seemed abnormally packed on this particular year. The lines of people in front of the food trucks and rides wove in and out of each other, wrapping around other attractions. Others milled about aimlessly, clutching their oversized (and overpriced) stuffed animal prizes or fried treats. Brightly colored lights flashed, children laughed and shrieked, animals crowed, brayed, and neighed. Ever since John B and Sarah returned with the gold, it seemed Kildare was a hot spot for tourism - even more so than usual. Everyone across the state, the east coast, hell, the country, wanted to get a look at the newly resurfaced  _ Royal Merchant _ and the beaches it was found near. 

Kiara felt a little queasy. Maybe it was the dazzling lights, or the crowd of people, or maybe she ate one too many fried Oreos. Or maybe it was because JJ had her wrist in a vice grip and was dragging her across the whole fair to the oldest, most rickety ride she had ever seen. ‘The Zipper’ flashed in multicolored LEDs across the top of the very tall ride and every bolt seemed to squeak and twist with every breeze that blew by. “JJ, I don’t know about this one, it looks pretty old,” she yelled above the carnival din. 

“Come on, Kie! It’s the most fun ride out here! I can’t believe I haven’t made you ride it yet.” The line in front of them was suprisingly short, but she still had time. She could still convince him not to make her ride that thing.

“Most fun or most dangerous?” She asked again as the ride squealed and shrieked into movement. It was one of those rides that spun you in circles and flipped you upside down as if it had the intention of making you lose your dinner. Kiara was not a squeamish person, she was afraid of very few things, but old rides like this? Easily the top of her list. 

“What? You chicken, Carrera?” He was teasing her, egging her on. She had half a mind to give him what he wanted, to scoff, say no, ride the damn thing, and secretly regret it later, if she survived, that is. But he knew her too well for that.

“Yeah, actually,” she said instead. “This thing looks like it’s gonna fall apart at any moment.”

His wild smile faltered for just a moment as he analyzed her. Scrutinized her, more like it. “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t think you were serious. We don’t have to ride it, I guess.” His smile returned full force, and she knew he really didn’t mind, but she still felt bad about it.

“Is this really your favorite ride?” Kie asked, her voice small.

“Yeah, I mean.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve ridden it every year since I got tall enough for it. But I’ll drag John B onto it later, it’s not a big deal.”

Kie sighed. “Okay, fine. We’re gonna ride it.”

“Really?” JJ’s stupid beautiful blue eyes lit up, and Kie had to admit to herself that she loved being the reason they did that, all shimmering, shining reflections of the ocean. She nodded, and her timing was perfect because they were next in line. After they got strapped in, she gripped the safety bar with shaking hands. JJ reached over, taking her hand and flashing her one of his bright grins. “Be brave, sweetheart. I got you.” And with a screech the ride took off.

Kie couldn’t tell if it was the ride that sent her stomach turning flips, or JJ’s wild laughter, hand gripping hers tightly. For all of the groaning and protest of the ancient ride, it was pretty fun, though her knees wobbled as she clambered out of the precarious seat. JJ still held tight to her hand, and she had no intention of pulling away. She’d fall flat on her ass if she did. And if she had any other underlying reasons for continuing to cling to her best friend, she’d deal with them later.


	4. Can You Shut Up for Five Minutes, Please?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ONE WAS HONESTLY SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE! And I’m a fucking over-achiever, as you well know, my dear, so I did all four prompts. Enjoy!  
> Thank you, acooper9716! <3
> 
> Prompts:  
> “Can you shut up for five minutes, please?”  
> “If I trip over one more of your shoes, I’m throwing them all away.”  
> “Take notes, sweetheart.”  
> “... or we could make out…”

Sarah’s alarm blares suddenly, pulling her from a weirdly vivid dream. The bright colors fade from her memory as soon as she opens her eyes, squinting against the light leaking between the slats of the blinds. It’s too early for a weekend to get up, but the Pogues had been over late the night before and she knows the Chateau is still a mess. She’d been too tired to clean up before going to bed, but now she wishes she hadn’t procrastinated so she could roll over and go back to sleep. As she stretches, willing some form of energy into her limbs, she realizes John B’s side of the bed is empty. He’s never been an early riser, and he didn’t mention having to work. Whatever the case, he’s no longer in bed next to her and with his absence goes any excuse she has to linger under the warm blankets. She smells coffee as she opens the bedroom door. That will be a better start to her day than jumping right into cleaning. 

As she makes her way down the hall, her foot catches on a discarded converse. In that moment, she decides that moving in with John B was the best and worst decision she’d made in recent history. “John Booker!” she yells, rubbing her stubbed toe and hopping awkwardly on one foot. “If I trip over one more of your shoes, I’m throwing them all away! I swear to god!” And okay, that comes out a little meaner than she intended. 

“Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” his good natured chuckle floats from the kitchen to greet her. 

Sarah twists her mouth into a semi-pout. She can admit to herself she’s irritable, but admitting it to someone else is another matter entirely. “And?” she snaps, her voice having almost no bite to it. Then she sighs, crossing to the kitchen table and sinking into one of the chairs. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep well I guess. Need coffee.”

“Coming right up, Val.” He pours her a cup. “Though you did ruin my plan.”

“What plan?”

He grins a little sheepishly. “I was gonna make you breakfast in bed.”

“Really?” Tears spring to her eyes for just a moment and she feels kind of silly, getting all emotional over one little breakfast in bed. “You’re so sweet. How am I supposed to top all your grand romantic gestures?”

He sets a plate of fried eggs, slightly burned bacon, and toast in front of her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Take notes, sweetheart,” he says with a wink. 

Sarah’s stomach growls as she looks at the food in front of her, but she finds herself wrinkling her nose after the first bite. Something isn’t quite right about the bacon, and she’s guessing it’s due to its near charred state, but she can play it off. It’s awfully sweet of John B to make breakfast, even if he isn’t a first-class chef. He sits down next to her with his own plate and asks, “What’s on your to do list for the day?” 

“Cleaning up the mess your friends made last night,” she laughs. 

“ _ My  _ friends? Since when are they only  _ my  _ friends?”

“Since they trashed our house!”

“Well, I guess I can help with the cleanup, since I did contribute to the mess.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

John B chuckles for a moment, then glances down at his food, pushing it back and forth across the plate. “And, uh,” he pauses and clears his throat. Sarah doesn’t often see him struggle to say what he’s thinking. John Booker Routledge is rarely lost for words. But in this moment, he seems almost nervous to continue. “So I think you should add something else to your to do list today.”

She pulls her feet into the seat, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning forward. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like taking this.” He reaches into a bag on the floor, pulling out a rectangular box and sliding it across the table. 

Sarah opens and closes her mouth a few times, blinking in surprise as she takes in the small package sitting in front of her. 

“Your period’s late,” he explains. “And you’ve been… feeling off lately, I can tell. And Kie can, too. She said so last night. And I mean I was already thinking something was weird and I figured it was better to go ahead and see-“

“Can you shut up for five minutes, please?” Sarah snaps, staring holes into the pink and white box in her hands. A pregnancy test. “Do you really think-“ she cuts herself off, trying to collect her thoughts. Sure her period is a little late, but that had happened before, nothing to freak out about. She hadn’t thrown up or anything like that. There is no way she’s pregnant. She slams the box down on the table and stands abruptly. “No, this is crazy. My period is just a couple days late, that’s all. It’s happened before.”

John B stands and walks around the table to put his hands on her shoulders. “Sar,” he says. “It’s two weeks late. You always mark it in your little planner thingy and it’s been two weeks since you were supposed to start.”

And there go those stupid tears again, filling up her eyes, except this time she’s afraid. She’s afraid because she knows he’s right. She hadn’t even allowed herself to notice how long it had been, but of course John B did, and now... “What if it’s positive?”

“Well,” he pulls her in close, wrapping his arms around her. She instinctively relaxes into his embrace. “Would that be so bad? I mean, you’ve graduated, and I know we’re not married yet, but what does that mean in this day and age anyway. And it’s not like we’re exactly strapped for cash.”

That last statement makes her giggle, just a bit. “So we’d be okay, yeah?”

He nods. “We’d be okay.”

She sighs, pulling back from and picking up the box of pregnancy tests. “Shit. Here goes!”

Two full minutes later, after the timer on her phone goes off, Sarah has a hand over her eyes and a test in the other. What if it’s positive? John B would be a great parent, she’s certain. But she doesn’t know how to be a mother. It’s not like she had the best examples to look up to. But then, what if it’s negative? “I’m honestly scared to look.”

“We’ll look together,” John B says, coming up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He steadies her in a way a much younger Sarah didn’t believe was possible. “On the count of three?” She nods. “One, two… three!”

And with John B’s hands on her shoulders, his eager face hovering next to hers, just as excited to see the results as she is, she suddenly knows exactly what she wants from this silly bit of plastic in her hands. She flips the test over. Two little lines. 

“Two? What does two mean?” John B asks. 

“It’s… it’s positive.” Her voice is a little shaky, and  _ holy shit this is happening _ , but then she’s laughing. “It’s positive!”

“Oh my god, Sarah!” He lifts her off the ground and spins her around once. “Oh my god,” he says again, setting her back on her feet. “Should I have done that? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, John B,” she whispers, tears shining in her eyes for the third time that damn morning. “We’re gonna have a baby!” Just saying that out loud sends a shiver down her spine. She didn’t think she could be so excited for something so unexpected, but here she is. 

He laughs, almost in disbelief, raking his fingers through his hair. Sarah thinks he looks happier than she’s ever seen him. She thinks maybe she’s the happiest she’s ever been, too. “We should tell the Pogues,” she says. 

“Yeah, probably…” his voice trails off as he pulls her back to him. “Or, we could make out?” He teases. “We can always tell them later.” 

Sarah giggles, feeling better than she had in probably a month. “That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”

“So is that a no? Or…”

Twisting her hand into the front of his shirt, she pulls him even closer, kissing him deeply. His hands come to rest on her waist and she can feel him smiling beneath her lips. Breaking their kiss for just a moment, she says, “You know I love you, John B. Right?”

“I love you, too, Sarah.”


	5. I Think You Need Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Anon, for these prompts... They're sad ones!
> 
> “I think you need stitches.”  
> “Nothing bad is going to happen, baby, I promise.”  
> “Sorry, I’m protective over the things I love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of abuse, injuries, and blood

The Chateau is barren. It has been for weeks now since the police finally cleared out. Uncle T still hasn’t shown back up, though he’s the only one who can decide what to do with the place now. Kiara counts her blessings though. The longer T stays away, the longer the Chateau remains safe. The last hallmark of the Pogue era. 

It’s different. How could it not be? Doors are barely hanging on their hinges, Big John’s office is all but cleared out and open now, new scuffs and scrapes on the floors and walls, broken windows. The screened-in porch has tears and whole panels missing. JJ had said he’d patch it all up, but Pope reminded them they aren’t supposed to be there, technically. Technicalities haven’t stopped them before, so it’s in the middle of the Chateau’s kitchen that Kiara sits, hugging her knees to her chest, tears pricking at her eyelids but not spilling over, a lump lodging itself in her throat. Her breath comes in stuttering gasps as she looks around the once lively fishing shack. Her second home that now feels as empty and cold as the ocean that swallowed her friends. 

Inhale for five seconds. Hold. Exhale for five seconds. She doesn’t want to cry anymore. She thought the numbness was bad, the crying is worse. The crying comes when she least expects it, grief welling up in her chest, making her appear like a leaky faucet. Weak. She doesn’t like to appear weak.

A crash on the porch, and her heart stops.  _ Move, idiot _ , she screams at herself internally, but she’s frozen to the spot on the floor, in clear view of the back door. The seconds tick by slowly as heavy, uneven steps fall on the porch, the doorknob turns, the hinges creak. Then JJ stumbles through to the living room, and she can breathe again, the urge to break into tears dissipating with her fear. 

JJ glances up just quick enough to see her, but not long enough for her to see his face from under the brim of his red cap. “Ah, hey, Kie. Didn’t think you’d be here,” he mumbles, and she knows that kind of mumble. His lip is busted. 

“Got sent home early from work again.” He lowers himself onto the pullout mattress, almost gingerly. She hasn’t seen him move this carefully since that night with the Cat’s Ass - that still sat out back, untouched. “Hey, are you okay?” She stands to come over to him, but he holds up a hand, almost frantically.

“Fine, fine.” But he certainly does not sound fine. “Just… gonna crash here for a bit.”

Kie doesn’t believe him for a second. “I thought you were staying with Pope.” He doesn’t answer. She crosses to him, despite the still extended hand - the one that’s clearly trembling - despite his protesting, rips the hat off his head. Eyes nearly swollen shut, a split lip, bloody, possibly broken nose, a gash above his eyebrow, half-dried blood from some unseen wound under his hair, not to mention the injuries she’s sure lurk under his sweatshirt. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep her lip from trembling those stupid tears welling up in her eyes again. That cut on his forehead catches her eye again. “I think you need stitches,” she says.

JJ won’t meet her eyes, just mumbles, “‘M fine, Kie, really.”

“Why’d you go home?” She doesn’t ask  _ if _ he went home, she already knows. She and Pope had already begged for him to stay as far away from Luke Maybank as possible. They knew what would happen when he realized what happened to his beloved  _ Phantom _ . No answer again, he just closes his eyes and leans his head back, but she knows. Luke is his dad. What is he supposed to do?

She goes back into the kitchen for ice (thank god the power had stayed on since that last storm), but also so he won’t see the few silent tears that make their way down her cheeks. They haven’t talked about it because what are they supposed to say? They sit in their mutual understanding, and she aches for him. A deep pain from the bottom of her stomach that makes her want to wrap her arms around him and squeeze until all his broken bits stick together, to use her tears to seal each crack, to kiss away every bruise and scar. And she doesn’t really feel like unpacking the last little part of that desire, so she dumps bags of ice on the pullout and goes to the bathroom to search for that first aid kit Big John had bought forever ago. He’d always claimed he had gotten it because they were the  _ clumsiest damn kids I ever did meet,  _ but now Kie thinks maybe he knew. He never batted an eye when JJ showed up on the doorstep, never complained when he helped himself to his food, the pullout, the shower, never asked him to leave when he stayed for weeks on end. Yeah, Big John had to have known. 

She returns to JJ with an armful of gauze, peroxide, alcohol wipes, and butterfly bandages. “Okay, this might sting a bit,” she warns him, her voice barely audible, but he doesn’t even blink when she starts wiping around the cut, which has thankfully stopped bleeding. Her hands shake ever so slightly, her vision swims with tears that just won’t fall. He only hisses in pain once when she presses just a little too hard while putting the bandage on, and then the tears fall. She’s sniffling and gasping for air and probably looks like a total baby, but it’s all she can do to cling to the alcohol wipe in her hand and  _ breathe _ .

He’s reaching for her hands. He’s wiping at the tears on her cheeks. He’s tucking her hair behind her ear. He’s whispering, “Hey, hey, hey, Kie, it’s okay. I’m okay.” 

“It’s not okay, JJ,” she manages to choke out around a sob. “This isn’t okay. You shouldn’t- I can’t-” and she can’t continue. He doesn’t say anything else. He wraps his arms around her shoulders - they never do this - he pulls her in to his chest. She can hear his heart beating, just a little fast. “I can’t lose you, too,” she whispers into his sweatshirt.

Gently, so gently for someone who can’t stay still for more than a second, he pulls her back and tilts her chin up so she’s looking into his eyes, half-swollen ones meeting tear-filled ones. “I won’t let that happen,” he says. “Nothing bad is going to happen, baby, I promise.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. He’s never called her that before. His eyes grow wide as he realizes what he just said. “Oh, uh… I mean-”

She kisses him, pulls him to her by the front of his sweatshirt. He lets one hand rest on her hip, the other twisting in her hair. He pushes into her, leaning her back onto the mattress, deepening their kiss, lips parting ever so slightly. And then he pulls back with a grimace and soft groan. “Oh, are you okay?” she asks, a soft smile playing at the corner of her lips. Carefully, she rubs her thumb across his jaw and over his split lip.

“Can we,” he says, strained. “Can we try that again… later?” The good side of his mouth quirks up into a smirk, and she chuckles a little, a weird breathy sound. She nods, swiping at the leftover tears on her cheeks. She wants to say she’s had better first kisses, find some reason not to rank that as her number-one kiss of all-time, but she can’t. 

He rolls onto his back with a grunt and closes his eyes again. The silence between them is comfortable now, not as loaded with woes and questions. At least one lingering question had been answered, and the rest would fall into place.

Kie finishes helping him clean his wounds, ice the bruises that need it, makes him take pain medication and lay back down, except this time she tucks herself under his arm. His arm drapes across her shoulder, her head presses back into his chest right where she can hear his heart beating. Softly, sweetly, he presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Don’t go back,” she says, suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“Go back?”

“Home.” She swallows, that grief in her chest threatening to make her cry again. “Don’t go back to him. You can stay here, or at Pope’s house, or…” She makes sure to duck her head so he can’t possibly see her face. “Or you could stay at my house. Just don’t go back.”

JJ is silent for a moment. She can feel his jaw working against her head, the way it does when he’s mulling something over. Finally, he says, “Okay. We’ll figure something out.” He pauses before teasing, “When’d you get to be so overbearing?”

Now, Kie shifts so she can meet his eyes in the half-light of the setting sun. “Sorry,” she says, genuinely. “I’m just protective over the things I love.”

He kisses her again, and she thinks that perhaps, if he keeps doing that, things might just be alright again, eventually. 


End file.
